


Rendez-Vous

by emdash90



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Date?, F/F, Fluff, Happy birthday N!, One Shot, Serious softness ahead, s o f t
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 11:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emdash90/pseuds/emdash90
Summary: In which Eve and Villanelle definitely do not go on a date.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 26
Kudos: 233





	Rendez-Vous

**Author's Note:**

  * For [songforeverystory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/songforeverystory/gifts).

> Happy birthday to my writer's block bud, the very talented songforeverystory! 
> 
> Go read her stuff, it gives me life.

It wasn’t a date. 

At least, that’s what Eve kept telling herself. 

It was only dinner — just like always. Just like in Brussels. In Florence. In Prague. 

It had only ever been dinner. 

It was their unspoken agreement, one they had been practising for the better part of a year, since Villanelle had ever so casually turned up at the hole-in-the-wall restaurant in Munich. 

Like the last time they had seen each other  _ wasn’t  _ when Eve had very rudely — according to  _ some  _ — plunged a knife into Villanelle’s abdomen as they laid next to each other in an annoyingly chic apartment. 

That first dinner had been strained, awkward, even after Eve managed to recover from choking on the scalding broth of her soup dumpling. 

But if Villanelle had noticed the tension, she gave nothing away as she sat on the other side of their tiny, round table, shovelling food into her mouth and terrorizing the waitstaff with ludicrous requests. 

The shock of Villanelle materializing without word eventually wore off. Somewhere between dinners three and four, in Barcelona and Geneva, when their one-sided chats that featured Villannelle’s cheeky, usually inappropriate humour became real conversations — like ones between friends — began.

Eve enjoyed her work at MI6. 

She loved the thrill of the chase, the travel — even when it didn’t involve wild hunts for certain honey-blonde assassins across Europe. 

But she couldn’t deny it made it better. Couldn’t deny that she looked forward to the certainty of Villanelle dropping into the seat across from her on the nights Eve ventured out for dinner “alone.”

Of course, their rendez-vous were strictly off the record, and of course, Villanelle refused to share how she tracked her from city to city, restaurant to restaurant, regardless of where work took her.

But this time was different. Felt different.

“I’ll pick you up,” Villanelle chuckled over the phone with a hum two days prior. 

“No, you don’t —”

“Eve.” She could hear the eye roll through the mobile line. She wondered if Villanelle could hear her biting away her smile in return. “I want to.”

So she’d agreed.

As if she would have really said no. 

Eve watched herself in the floor-length mirror anchored to the wall of her small Lisbon hotel room, smoothing her hands over the sleek fabric of her black dress. She pulled on her best pair of deceptively comfortable heels and ran her fingers through her curls, enjoying the way they bounced back into place whenever she pushed them away from her face.

She was leaning into the mirror, wiping a smudge of mascara from the corner of her eye when a knock at the door made her already speeding heart leap from the cavity in her chest.

But it wasn’t a date.

She expelled what was left of her unnecessary nerves with a last shaky breath and pulled the hotel room door open. 

Impeccably dressed, as always, in a goldstone crest-buttoned blazer, red tie-neck blouse, and black trousers, Eve’s dinner date — er,  _ companion _ — leaned against the doorframe, toying with the ring on her thumb and looking at Eve through dark, coy lashes.

“You know, you should really ask who it is before you answer the door, Eve,” the blonde scolded, head cocked to the side. “It could have been anyone. It could have been a psychopath.” Her eyes were wide with false fear but her smirk betrayed her.

Eve rolled her eyes and leaned her shoulder against the solid wood door, not two feet away from her caller.

“As opposed to an assassin who stalks me around the world?”

The assassin in question hummed, pleased with herself. 

“You like it.”

“I might.”

Villanelle beamed.

“Hi, Eve.”

And Eve smiled back.

“Hi.”

Villanelle took her in with a warm, sparkling gaze that Eve could feel in the pit of her stomach, bubbling and fizzing like the carbonation in a can of soda.

“You look nice.”

“And you look…” What could Eve say? Amazing? Gorgeous? Delicious? 

She was staring, she knew it. But with only a couple of feet between them, it was hard not to. 

With 50 feet between them, it was hard not to.

Eve cleared her throat with an awkward wave of her hand, gesturing toward Villanelle and her outfit and her face. 

What could she say that wouldn’t have her make a complete ass of herself?

What could she say that wouldn’t land so incredibly far away from what she really meant?

Thankfully, Eve didn’t need to wait long to be put out of her misery. 

“Are you ready to go?”

And no matter how many dinners they shared, how many hours they sat or stood across from each other, no matter how long this — whatever it was — carried on, Eve would never get used the softness of that grin, the quiet warmth in Villanelle’s voice when it was just the two of them.

Eve smiled again. 

“Let’s go.”

But it still wasn’t a date.

**// **

The sun was already descending below the orange-tiled roofs of Old Town by the time they stepped out of Eve’s hotel and onto the steep, cobbled streets of Lisbon’s Alfama District. 

The city was alive with end-of-season tourists, all enjoying the final whispers of summer before autumn came and real life, wherever that was, resumed.

Eve loved this. 

She loved watching the wonder on people’s faces as she witnessed them experience a new place for the first time. Loved walking for the sake of finding, learning, exploring, just for the simple fact that she could. 

She loved closing her eyes and breathing in deep, senses overwhelmed by the sound of laughter and honking cars. By the smell of grilled meat and the incomparably salty freshness of the ocean.

This was her life now. 

And she could hardly believe it was hers.

“Where are we going?” she asked, breaking their comfortable, happy silence for the first time since they’d hopped off the yellow and white no. 28 tram.

It seemed odd to think of Villanelle using any kind of public transportation, but the woman had only shrugged with a light smile and told her that she couldn’t visit Lisbon without taking the tram at least  _ once _ .

“Oh, you are going to love it.” Villanelle’s excitement was palpable, contagious, and Eve struggled to contain her grin. “They make the best  _ natas _ .” 

“I’ve always wanted to try those.”

Even in the evening light, Eve could make out the glow in Villanelle’s eyes, smug and thrilled at the idea of being Eve’s guide in their never-ending food journey.

They came to a stop in the middle of a narrow street, in front of an unmarked door in the endless row of white stone buildings. 

“This is it.”

Before Eve could stop to wonder where they were, Villanelle was opening the door, guiding her into the dimly lit restaurant with her arm around Eve’s back and a hand on her elbow. 

And all questions went out the window. 

Her new mission? Focusing on putting one foot in front of the other instead of on the heat of Villanelle’s skin against hers.

Again. 

Not a date.

But something was different. They were different. Villanelle was different. 

She seemed happy — lighter. 

Still Villanelle — still arrogant and ridiculous and wonderful — just  _ different. _

“Why are you so cheerful? Who did you kill?”

They were seated in a semi-private corner of the restaurant’s terrace, enjoying views of the glittering coastline in the fading light of day, and Villanelle was smirking into a wine list, pretending to consider their options. As if she hadn’t already made a decision days before she invited Eve to dinner. 

She placed the parchment list back on the table and considered Eve with her hand under her chin. 

“I’m just happy to see you, Eve.”

From across the table, Eve leaned her head into her own hand to match Villanelle’s thoughtful, smiling pose.

“Is that right?”

The blonde’s chuckle was faint as she focused on the slow, steady movement of her index finger tracing the rim of her wine glass. 

“I missed you.” 

It was simple, earnest, wistful, and Eve’s chest tightened and tingled, and she didn’t quite know what to do with herself except answer back truthfully. 

“I missed you,” she returned, her voice so narrowly above a whisper she wondered if Villanelle could even hear it. 

But the smile on her face and the barely-there blush across her cheeks told her otherwise. 

Villanelle coughed and picked up her menu, hiding her grin behind laminated pages.

“Do you know what you want?”

Eve chewed her lip, averting her gaze back to her own menu. 

“I think I do.” 

**// **

Hours later, content and well-fed, they were back in Eve’s hotel room after a stroll through a quieting city. 

Villanelle had been animated the entire time, walking backward and gesturing wildly as she recounted an absurd tale of early days with Konstantin. 

They never did this. 

Walked together. 

Spent time together that wasn’t within the span of three courses in whatever restaurant in whichever city. 

They always said goodbye right after their meal, parting ways and heading in opposite directions the moment they stepped foot out of the restaurant. Bursting the bubble they’d burrowed themselves in until the next dinner in the next city. 

But Eve felt bold, empowered by the fact that Villanelle hadn’t made a beeline for the door the moment the bill was paid, so she asked, breathless, if Villanelle wanted to join her for a nightcap. 

Villanelle had arched an eyebrow in intrigue, but accepted Eve’s very smooth invitation without hesitation. 

And so there they were, sitting on opposite ends of Eve’s hotel couch, backs against armrests, feet and legs resting in the space between them, swinging against each other every so often. 

There was no night cap to be had. Travel accommodations for MI6 agents were sorely lacking and Eve’s mini fridge held nothing but a sad, half-filled tray of ice. 

But her guest didn’t seem to mind. 

“Where are you headed next?” Eve asked, enjoying the weight of Villanelle’s foot against the side of her knee. 

The blonde shrugged, that same, blissful smile still in place from hours before.

“Maybe I am taking a vacation.” 

“Oh? What kind of benefits do you get with international criminal organizations?”

“Well, it is a physically demanding job, but I have a very flexible work schedule.” 

“Mm.”

Villanelle nudged her foot against Eve’s leg, staring off at the mass-produced painting behind her before returning her eyes to Eve.

“We should go someplace fun. Maybe Rome. Or Amsterdam.”

“Like on a trip? Together?”

Villanelle made a face. 

“Eve, I will have you know, I am an exceptional travel companion. Ask Konstantin.”

“I would, but you kind of killed him.”

“I’m just trying to make an honest living.” 

Eve snorted and rolled her eyes, having long given up on the idea that Villanelle would ever be anyone other than Villanelle.

She had probably also given up on the idea that she would ever want anyone other than Villanelle. 

But. 

That was a thought for a different day. 

“Okay. Maybe Rome. Or Amsterdam.”

Villanelle glowed and resumed fidgeting with her ring. 

“Okay. I will do some research, then.” It was shy and almost out of character, but damn if it wasn’t one of the most adorable things Eve had ever witnessed.

She wondered how long they could keep this up — grinning at each other like 17-year-old fools on a first date — even though it wasn’t. 

But Eve supposed she wouldn’t have minded if it was.

**//**

Later, when the conversation died down and Eve’s sleepy yawns became impossible to contain, Villanelle tapped Eve’s calf with her toe one final time before rising from the sofa. 

They were standing in the doorway again, their shoulders against its frame, not bothering to pretend like they needed to keep any space between them. 

“So Rome next time?”

“Or Amsterdam.”

“You can pick,” Villanelle murmured. She reached for Eve’s wrist, her thumb moving in light, back-and-forth motions along her skin. “I will call you soon.”

She squeezed Eve’s hand, bashful, before turning down the hallway, toward the chrome-doored elevator.

When Eve locked herself in for the night, ready for sleep and the sweet dreams that were sure to follow, she was crossing the room when she spotted something on the end table at the far side of the couch. 

In seconds, she was swinging the door open, not caring if the loud bang of wood against wall woke her sleeping neighbours.

“Vil!” she called, just a touch out of breath as she slowed from her jog down the corridor. 

She was Intelligence, not a field agent. She never saw the point of cardio.

Resting against the wall and waiting for the ancient elevator to find its way to the fifth floor, Villanelle looked up from her phone, confused though nowhere near displeased.

“Eve?”

Eve wondered how her life had suddenly become a romcom as she came to a skidding stop along the cheap hotel carpet. 

“You forgot something,” she breathed. She placed a hand on the wall next to Villanelle’s head, hunched over to fight the cramp in her side. 

Okay, so maybe cardio wasn’t such a bad idea.

“Oh.” 

And then she didn’t know what was happening. 

Because one moment, she was moving to hand Villanelle the clutch she’d left behind, and in the same instant, Villanelle leaned forward to press her lips against Eve’s, her hands warm against her cheeks. 

It lasted for a second, a lifetime, and Eve’s arms dropped to her sides, eyes fluttered shut, not caring how she’d found herself in this hallway because all that mattered was that she had. And here she was. 

Exhaling.

Breathing. 

Finally.

When Villanelle pulled away — forehead resting against hers — and Eve managed to open her eyes despite the dizzy spin of her head, she smirked.

“I meant you forgot  _ this _ ,” Eve teased, pushing the small, black wristlet into Villanelle’s unexpecting hand.

“Oh.  _ Oh. _ ” 

Eve wondered how many people had ever been fortunate enough to witness a flustered, fumbling Villanelle. She wondered how many of them were alive to tell the tale, though she had a sneaking suspicion that she was very likely the only one.

“It’s alright,” Eve assured her, hands free to trail up the younger woman’s arms to link her fingers behind Villanelle’s neck. “This works, too.”

And as Eve pulled Villanelle toward her, their lips meeting for the second time in a very long list of encounters — in Rome, then Amsterdam, and beyond — Eve grinned.

Finally. 

Finally.

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat on twitter @emdash_90!


End file.
